


Hangover Morning

by RyMagnatar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up naked, under the table in the kitchen of the apartment you share with two humans really isn't as much as a surprise as it should be. </p><p>And embarrassment comes in the shape of a spade and the color of mahogany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hangover Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came from a roleplay with one of my very good friends. It's pretty much an OTP for us at this point.

“Rise and shine!”

On any other day you might have greeted such a voice with kindess, but today was unlike every other day. You roll over, away from the voice, giving your best threatening growl, despite the way it rattled around in your brain and beat against your skull like a metal ball in a big bass drum. A warm, human hand grips and shakes your shoulder as the voice comes again, “come on. We really should get you out from under the table.”

“Table?” You jerk awake, eyes wide and blood racing through your veins. You immediately regret it because the headache becomes about four times worse than before and the bright light of the kitchen nearly blinds you. Groaning, you flop back down and curl up. “Light. Noise. Bad.” You manage to say from behind your hands.

“I fucking have to agree with him on that,” came another-also human- voice. You can practically feel the light going dim. The sound of glasses being taken from the cupboards is louder than you’d like but you manage to wriggle across the floor and sit up again- this time not under the table.

“You’re wearing sunglasses, Dave,” John’s too fucking cheerful voice says. “How can  it be too bright for you?” You look blearily up at the humans from where you sit on the floor. After a few minutes of staring, you begin to actually see things. John’s wearing his grey boxers and a black shirt with some sort of logo on it. Probably human Ghost Busters. That would be just like him.

Dave, on the other hand, walks around the kitchen in his dark red little boxers with pink and black little hearts. Oh, and his sunglasses. Of course he has those on. He’s the one rifling through the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and tomato juice and celery while John starts pouring cereal into a bowl. You sit on the floor, staring up at them dumbly.

Elbows resting on your bare knees, you rest your chin on your arms and watch them. It was better than trying to talk or move. Also, you were pretty sure you were naked, again.

You look down at yourself and roll your eyes. Yup. Naked.

Dave walks over and holds out your own personal hangover remedy. Grapefruit has never looked so inviting as you take it from his fingers and rub the delicious fruit against your cheek. You groan, happily, as you breath in that fresh citrus scent and sweet smell of the rind. “Oh grapefruit, you beautiful thing,” your voice is rougher than you thought it would be.

Pale fingers scratch your hair between your horns and your lavishing attention to the grapefruit only becomes stronger as you begin to purr. Dave laughs softly and then drops his ass down on the floor beside you. He’s got a glass full of something that smells a whole lot worse than your grapefruit so you shoulder him and growl and he laughs and pushes back but just drinks from it anyway.

You’d never admit it, but you like these hangover mornings. Dave is at his most relaxed and John is at his most friendly. It’s worth the weird humiliation of waking up naked, or near-naked in random places around the apartment.

Also, you get grapefruit.

God do you love grapefruit.

You rub the rind of the fruit on your face again and then with a joyful moan you bite into it, bitter rind and sour fruit and all. Dave, at your side, shuddered. “Dude.” Was all he said, but it held a million questions and shivers of disgust. You chomped down on the fruit, lapped the juice dribbling from your chin and then smirk to him. You get another bite and he shudders again. “I will never get used to that.”

John joins you two then, sitting across from the two of you with his sleepy eyes and bowl of cereal. _Fuckin’ John_ , you think, looking at his not pained face. As far as you know, he has never once gotten a hangover. Neither you nor Dave know why, but it has always been true.

You kind of hate that about him, but you’ll live.

Shifting your legs so your calves politely obscure the view of your bulge and/or nook, you keep your knees up close to your chest and continue to eat the grapefruit. As you begin to fill up on it, you dig out a chunk and hold it out to Dave. “Want some?”

He eyes you behind his black shades but then rolls one shoulder in what could be a shrug and opens his mouth. You slide it into his mouth and smirk when he licks your fingers. He eats it with a grimace but you ignore that as you dig out another piece. John, giggling, already has his mouth open. You feed him a piece and he swallows it down with a shudder and says, “No homo.”

You roll your eyes and Dave snorts. John giggles again and sets down the bowl of cheerios. Quickly, he flings himself at the two of you, putting an arm around your necks and hugging you both close, “Just kidding! All the homo. All of it ever!”

“John! Dude!” Dave pushes in futility against the man with ‘hammer arms’. You just adjust it so you can eat the grapefruit around his arm, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder. “Gosh,” John continues, his voice softer, “Eridan, you have a cut!”

“What.” Dave says.

“Murgl?” you say around a mouthful of food.

“Yeah! Right here on your head!” John pokes a spot on the back of your head and shit fuck _hell_! That hurts! You move your head away from his touch and growl. “It looks like it’s not bleeding anymore, though!”

“How did it happen?”

“Table,” you grumble, sullenly remembering the wound now. “I fuckin’ tripped and busted my head on it.” You reach out your foot to kick the table now but it just hurts your toe. You hiss and John pats your head.

You glare at him, it was his damn table that he bought. The thing was hardier than any other piece of furniture in your shitty apartment. The legs were a good four or five inches in diameter, connected to the top with those little angular bits to keep it firmly in place. Then the top itself was a dark mahogany and a good couple of inches too. You and Dave had fooled around on top of that and except for a few claw marks on the edges, the table had stood up against the weight. It had dug a nasty, _nasty_ bruise across your lower back, though. You never forgave it for that.

John eventually pulls back from impromptu possibly-homo hugs and goes back to eating his cheerios. You glare at the table in sullen silence and Dave downs the rest of his stomach clenching monstrosity. Eventually he stands up and offers his hand to you. You lick your fingers clean and take it. John politely looks away and you can practically feel Dave roll his eyes.

The moment you’re upright, though, you can see the top of the table.

Horror overcomes you.

Deep lines are dug into the surface of the table and _fuck_ that is totally your blood or at least your purple on the edge there and in some of the grooves. Dave looks at you looking at the table and his lips twitch into the tiniest of smirks, “Did you two have fun last night?”

Blushing so darkly you begin to feel light headed, you shove at him and turn to leave the room.

John’s voice behind you stops you dead in your tracks, “Eridan? Why is there a spade carved into the leg of my table?”

Dave outright laughs as you flee the room. Fucking humans and their fucking indestructible tables!


End file.
